trapped in a perfect world
by BitterSweet3
Summary: "Don't worry Mush," he paused, "they're trapped in a perfect world." He answered while brushing his fingers through my hair and sending me off to play with my mother who stood smiling at the door.
1. 1

[trapped in a perfect world]

[by bittersweet]

Looking back on my reasons for leaving, I wish someone had killed me sooner. I remember so much of my home, because I'm one of those people that remember everything there is to remember about anything. 

I remember the first time my mom brought me into the city and the way my eyes lit up by the scene of the bright lights. I told my mom that some day I would move to the big city to make my life as a performer and that I would be the greatest performer of all time. She would laugh and run her hands through my curls, telling me I could be anything I wanted to be. She told me that the world was mine to embrace, to seize the day and make the most of each moment. 

My mother was a beautiful woman, soft brown curls that surrounded her face in little wisps that complimented the shade of her creamy skin. She would always look beautiful and wear her prettiest dresses and hats almost everyday and I thought that there was no woman prettier then my mother in all the state of New York. Only looking back now do I connect that she wanted to be an actress but had to give it up when I came, yet she told me to seize the day. 

I remember when she would take me out to the park on clear and warm spring days and spread a blanket on the ground. She would pack us a lunch and have me run around gathering dandelions so she could make me a crown and she would put one behind her ear. She used to sing to me, her voice was clear and sweet, and I would fall asleep just listening to her speak sometimes, it was so calm and soft. Her voice never got loud or angry and she would sing and whistle her way through every day.

No wonder she married my father. He was her other half, her equal in almost every way. He used to come home from work every day at 5:03 and the first thing he would do was kiss my mother and hand me a piece of candy. I adored him in every way shape or form. He was my idol and absolutely amazing. 

We had lots of money when I was there; each room had big pieces of polished furniture that I wasn't allowed to touch without the maid yelling at me. My favorite room was my dad's office though. It had a big oak desk that him and I would climb under with a candle and have secret chats and tell ghost stories. 

The best part was that my father kept the most important thing in my life in the office, the snow globe. It had a miniature version of New York City in the middle, complete with tiny people that I would direct family and friends names to, even if I didn't tell them. 

When I was about seven or so, I ran into his office one day looking for someone to play with, he was doing work busily, but he pulled me onto his lap so I could help him. I remember pretending to do work busily for about 2 or 3 minutes before I became restless and started reaching for the snow globe. Avoiding the mess my father picked it up and turned it upside-down, letting all of the snow collect at the bottom. Then he inverted it, letting all the snowfall down onto the city of New York, like magic.

That time it wasn't the same though, I had questions and concerns for the little people in the city, the little specs of people ice-skating and walking.

"What if they want to get out of there Daddy," I asked him staring at the snow fall slowly over the city.

"Don't worry Mush," he paused, "_they're trapped in a perfect world_." He answered while brushing his fingers through my hair and sending me off to play with my mother who stood smiling at the door. 


	2. 2

[trapped in a perfect world]

[bittersweet]

For my fourth birthday my mother and father bought me a puppy. A little husky that would chase his tail and beg for belly-rub after belly rub. When I walked downstairs that morning and saw the box full of holes I knew exactly what it was. I shredded the paper and closed my eyes while I took off the cap, and opened it to find my puppy. 

"You can name him anything you want Mikey," my mother said stroking my head and kneeling beside me. I embraced her tightly and picked up my puppy carefully from the box with the help of my mother. Then my father walked in, in his arms was a sleigh about the right size for a four year old, wrapped in a big red ribbon. 

"Here you go champ," he said putting the sleigh down and patting my head. "We can attach these reigns to the dog when he gets bigger and then you can ride around in the winter time like a sleigh-rider."

I looked at my father explaining this all to me in complete shock, this was the coolest gift I'd ever received. I automatically wanted to use it, with the minor setback of the lack of snow and me being heavier then my tiny puppy, I _had _to use it. So I set up the different ropes on him as best as I could, and got into my sled in the middle of the living room. "Go!" I would scream, over and over again.

"Mikey, if you want him to go then you have to use the right commandment," my Dad said from the couch while holding hands with my mother.

"Pull?" I asked while rubbing my eyes (four year olds need their naps).

"Mush," my mother said with a wink while holding on to my father's hand and squeezing it, then resting her head on his shoulder.

I remember shouting 'Mush' every minute of every hour for at least two weeks before we even had a single snowflake. My mother and father used to even tease me about saying it in my sleep. But then one day it happened, we had our first snow and I was able to move my sled from the wood of my living room floor to the soft snow that covered the grass and streets like icing on a cake. My mother bundled me up in different odds and ends from my closet and my father carried my sled out to the street. 

I stepped inside of the sled while my father properly attached my puppy to the reigns, and then he stepped back.

My mother smiled and grabbed my fathers hand while they told me that I could say 'mush' to start the sled. So I thrust the reigns, screamed 'mush' at the top of my lungs, and found myself hurling down Main Street with my best friend, in which I decided to call Max.

That night my mother came into my room and sat on the edge of my bed to help tuck me in. "So, good old 'Mush' finally worked," she smiled at me while kissing the tip of my nose.

I remember her running her fingers through my hair while talking gently in my ear. She whispered, "If I hear you say it one more time today I'm going to start calling you 'mush'," she said with a laugh and a tickle on my belly.

"Mush!" I said playfully, squirming to get away from her fingers against my ticklish skin.

She laughed, at me and stood up fixing her dress. Then she blew out the candle, stepped to the door and stood in the doorway for a moment. "Goodnight Mush," she said with one last smile and closed the door behind her, while humming a song of lavish sweetness.

Shouts to whom I'm outing:

Mondie- thank you muchly for my first run-on-review in AGES! You were right it was all about Mush! It's so sad that everyone's like 'oh on my first story…' but I'm like HELLO I have like 11 stories and I'm still a no one. ((cries)) I'll get over it. MWAAH!

Goth101- here you go… how Mush got his name ;o)


	3. 3

[trapped in a perfect world]

[bittersweet]

I remember the day our old and stuffy next door neighbors moved away. I was so happy just to see them gone, they would always yell at Max and me for 'crossing the property line' when we would play in the back yard. The window of my room faced my neighbor's spare bedroom, and occasionally they would have family stay in there while they visited. I would stick my pudgy face against the window and try to see if there were any children, but the same little old lady would always be there, yelling at me, pointing her finer and closing the blinds.

Now when I stuck my head out the window, it was empty. An unfurnished room with faded blue walls and faded wooden floors. I missed the color in the quilt that lay on the bed on the center of the room, it was bright and vibrant, and come to think of it didn't even match the blue in the walls. But it fit anyway, they balanced each other the way a good room should, and I guess I'm going to miss that quilt.

But one day a series of horse and carts arrived, not pulling people but tons of objects and pieces of furniture. They pulled up right next door, and a cycle of men carried the objects from carts into the house, disappearing behind the walls of the big brown domicile.

That day I took Max outside, and we played in our backyard, not caring about the stupid property lines and just playing as a boy and his dog should do, carelessly. It was summer then, and I sweated bullets underneath my knickers and bare shirt I had stripped down to. Max was panting like a madman but still badgered my to throw the ball as far as I could.

I decided one more throw, and I just _had _to go inside for lemonade, so I told Max it would be the last toss. I closed my eyes and wound up by spinning in circles, holding the ball out at arm length and getting ready to toss it in any which way. I released and straightened myself out to see where the ball had landed, regaining my balance and standing upright. 

The ball moved through the air weightlessly and was headed in the direction of the new neighbor's house.

"Hey!" said a boy about my age as he ran outside to greet Max and I to see if he could play. 

I should have seen it coming, but the ball dropped out of the air like it had chosen its victim, and smashed the kid in the face. He landed flat on his back on the ground; his arms and legs sprawled out in every which way.

"Hey kid!" I shouted after him and sprinted as fast as my ten-year-old legs would take me, and landed on my knees at his side.

His eyes stared blankly at the sky and I could see that he got hit in the eye judging by the bruise starting to form. He wasn't moving, he wasn't blinking, and he lay there with a bare expression on his face and his body limp and flaccid. "Kid, Kid," I said shaking him, trying to get him to move, to be alive, "Kid, please," I said starting to cry, starting to wheeze, "Kid, blink!" I started to shout.

Hearing me scream my mother came outside and sat beside me, both of us shouting, "Kid, blink!" 

He started to squirm, but alas, he was alive! I hadn't killed him after all, thankfully. I was far too young to have taken a life, and plus, it was finally a kid who lived next door to play with.

Then his mother came outside, similar to my mother it seemed, but more poised. She looked at us and smiled, then looked at the ground next to us and turned into a jog.

Next thing I knew she had him in her arms, sprinting to take him inside so that she could send for the doctor.

The next day I sat on the steps leading into my house, feeling awful about what happened between me and 'Kid-blink' (as I had so cleverly been calling him), I sat there gloomily, and depressed. I decided that the only thing that would bring me salvation would be to walk over to the house, apologize and see how he was doing.

"Hello ma'am," I said respectfully to his mother, "I just wanted to check on him." I said bowing my head, trying to hide the tears dwelling in my eyes.

"Hello Mush," she smiled, and motioned me in. I saw my mother sitting in the kitchen of the house and I ran to her.

"Hey there Mushy-man," she said squeezing me tightly, "Tommy's down the hall on that side," she said motioning me to the door.

"Hey Kid," I said as I stepped in the door and saw him reading in his bed, but something was different about him. Same blond hair, same freckles, same crooked teeth, same eye-- same EYE! He was wearing an eye-patch.

"Hey," he said enthusiastically, his grin grew at the fact that he had a visitor.

"I'm Mush," I said holding my hand out to him, "I'm really sorry about--er--," I said motioning my chin towards his eye.

"No problem Mush," he laughed, "doctor said it'd heal right up," he touched it lightly, "and now I kinda look like a pirate."

"Hey, you're right!" I laughed, "Aye Aye Matey!"

"By the way, I'm Tommy," he said, his smile broadening.

"No, you're not," I said to him, my smile broadening as well. "You're Kid-blink."

He looked down at his book, and then looked at me unsurely, "OK, Kid-blink it is."

And from then on, we were almost as inseparable as our mothers were.


End file.
